


A Wicked Wheeze

by JantoJones



Series: Stand-alone Two (The 2nd 100) [38]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 07:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15925445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: Napoleon and Illya receive an anonymous tip off regarding a new Thrush plot.





	A Wicked Wheeze

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Hypatia_66 for the title suggestion.

One of the biggest nuisances within the espionage game was the over-reliance on anonymous information. The problem was that an agent had no way of knowing whether the intel was genuine, or if it was the bait in a trap. Unfortunately, for Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, their latest tip off fell squarely into the latter category.

U.N.C.L.E. had received a message, from an unknown source, stating that Thrush were preparing to infiltrate the security services of several countries. It went on to say that, if they were interested, an agent should meet the contact at the address given. Due to the seriousness of the threat, Mr Waverly dispatched his top team.

The address turned out to be the only building still standing in a neighbourhood which was being demolished for redevelopment. It was a three-storey apartment block and, although it looked fairly innocuous, it still gave Napoleon and Illya cause for concern. The lack of construction workers, or anyone else for that matter, did nothing to allay their suspicions. 

“I do not like this,” Illya stated, as the two agents got out of the car. “We are sitting chickens for whoever might be in that building.”

“Sitting ducks,” Napoleon corrected automatically. “But I agree. We need to get inside and out of the open.”

“Do you have a plan, or are we winging it?”

“I’m assuming that there will be a door to the rear,” Napoleon stated. “You take that one, and I’ll go through the front. The message said to go to the top floor, so we’ll meet up there.”

“I notice you are taking the easier route.”

“You don’t expect me to climb through rubble in this suit?” Solo replied, brushing imaginary fluff from his lapel.

“More likely accounting is limiting the number of suits you can claim for.”

Napoleon’s answer was to sneer at the assertion, despite it being completely true. Illya let out an exasperated sigh.

“I suppose, since I am far fitter, and much more agile than you, it makes sense for me to go that way,” he said, with absolute seriousness. “I’ll meet up with you in there.”

With that, he darted off to clamber over the debris and make his way to the back of the building. Napoleon watched him and wondered, not for the first time, if there was some feline blood in the Kuryakin line. After quickly glancing around for anything or anyone which may wish to do him harm, Solo headed to the front entrance of the building.

It took hardly anytime at all for Illya to locate the rear entrance of the building where he found the door and windows boarded up. A quick investigation told him it would take too long to get in that way, even if he could have found a tool to help him. However, his eyes were drawn to the fire escape, which went up to the roof. With a small jump, Illya was able to grab onto the bottom of the ladder.

He swiftly scrambled to the roof and was pleased to find that the roof access door was standing open. Illya’s innate sense of paranoia warned him to be cautious, with a small voice wondering, if everything else was boarded up, why this door was invitingly allowing access. As a precaution, he unholstered his gun and made his way inside. Illya hadn’t gone for when felt a sharp pain on the back of his neck. He had just enough time to recognise it as a sleep dart before darkness descended.

At the front of the building, Napoleon too had taken out his weapon. He hadn’t survived this long without being exceptionally wary. With a caution born of experience he carefully headed into the lobby of the building. Just like Illya he didn’t get far as a sleep dart hit him in the thigh.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“I can’t believe we got two of them,” Mike Wentz said, as he finished tying the unconscious Napoleon to a chair.

“Yeah, and look which two,” replied his older brother, Dave, who was securing Illya. “The boss is going to reward us handsomely for this.

“Just goes to show, the simple plans are the best,” Mike stated. “I’ll let the boss know and he can come and pick them up.”

“No! We should try and get some information out of them first. Imagine how good it will look for us if we’ve, not only captured Solo and Kuryakin, but managed to break them too.”

“We need to hand them over quickly,” the younger brother replied. “These two are well known for their escapology.”

“They can’t escape while we’re watching them.”

The brothers were still arguing the point as Illya returned wakefulness. Having woken from a drugged sleep while tied up, many times, he didn’t panic at his situation. Instead, he took stock of his surroundings.

The room appeared to be the main living area of a derelict apartment, which he assumed was in the building to which he and Napoleon had been lured. The only furniture in the room were six wooden chairs; two of which had been placed in the centre of the room for the unconscious U.N.C.L.E. agents. On one of the other chairs, their guns and equipment were piled up.

Illya was aware of his partner to his right, but most of his attention went to the two bickering men in front of him. With their dirty red hair, similar features, and near identical height and build, he had no doubt they were brothers. They seemed to be arguing about whether or not to torture him and Napoleon, or if they should hand them over to their superiors. He was guessing, Thrush.

“You could always let us go,” Illya told them, interrupting the flow of the argument. “It will be easier for you in the long run.”

Dave stepped over to Illya and struck him on the right cheek with a backhanded slap. Illya’s head snapped to the side but he brought it back with exaggerated care. The look he fixed his assailant with caused both brothers to momentarily think about backing out of their scheme.

“So you are Thrush, then,” Illya stated. “That group has a penchant for mindless violence.”

The comment earned him another slap. In the other chair, Napoleon came to in time to see Illya being hit for the second time.

“Will you never learn not to torment your captors?” he mumbled, as he fought off the effects of the sleep drug.

“Everyone should have a hobby, Napoleon,” the Russian replied.

“When you’ve quite finished,” Dave Wentz snapped. “I’ve made up my mind.”

He grabbed hold of Illya’s hair and pulled his head back painfully. 

“While my brother calls our superior, I will prepare this little runt for interrogation. We should have at least an hour before they come for you.”

“You see, Tovarisch,” said Napoleon, pointedly. “This is what comes from goading people.” 

“You would prefer it to be you?” the Russian asked.

“QUIET!” Dave roared, before lowering his voice again. “Mike, make the call.”

When the younger brother had left the room, Dave pulled a capped syringe from the inside pocket of his jacket. He commented, with a sadistic tone, that he never went anywhere without something for loosening tongues. Flipping the cap off, Dave tapped the syringe before plunging it into his victim’s arm.

Illya knew that, if the serum worked, he wouldn’t have long before he started spilling secrets. All of a sudden he started wheezing. There was a look of pure panic in his face as he struggled to draw breath.

“Illya?” Solo called out, wondering what had caused his partner to become unwell. “What’s happening?”

In front of the stricken man, Dave was also feeling a sense of panic. If one of his prizes died, then his boss wouldn’t be happy.

“Allergy,” Illya gasped, with enormous effort. “Must. . .lie. . .down. Take. . .medicine.”

“What does he mean?” Dave demanded of Napoleon.

The American agent had been concerned at first, but then quickly realised what Illya was planning. He explained to the Thrush man that Illya was allergic to many things, and one of them must have been present in the serum.

“Why would he be employed as an agent with such allergies?” Wentz asked. “How did he even pass a medical exam?”

“He’s good at his job which makes the risk acceptable,” Napoleon told him. “He carries medication in the front pocket of his pants.”

He had chosen the front pocket deliberately, in case their captor didn’t go for the ‘lying down’ line. Napoleon could see the dilemma playing out in the Thrush man’s expression. He didn’t want to lose one of his acquisitions, but he also didn’t want to risk one of them escaping.

“Help . . . me,” Illya rasped. “Please.”

“You have to do something!” Napoleon urged. “He can’t breathe!”

Dave came to the decision that no-one could act as ill as Kuryakin seemed to be, and began to untie him. He learned very quickly that the Russian was an exceptional actor. 

As soon as he was free, Illya dived against Dave, forcing him to the floor. He punched him hard, rendering him unconscious. Illya immediately jumped to his feet and released his partner.

“You had me worried there for a moment,” Napoleon said to him. “I honestly thought you were about to die.”

“If that idiot had waited any longer I might have done,” Illya replied, with a slight breathlessness. “I was in a real danger of making myself hyperventilate.”

The door to the room opened and Mike Wentz re-entered the room. He froze at the scene in front of him, giving Illya time to grab his gun.

“W. .what happened?” Mike asked, utterly dumbfounded.

Neither agent answered him. Illya merely waved the gun to indicate for him to sit down, where Napoleon secured him. 

“I wonder if that serum is working on you,” Napoleon speculated, as he and Illya tied Wentz to one of the others chairs. “Do you think we should try it out?”

“Only if you are planning on spending some time in medical soon.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

An hour later, Harold Barnes, and two armed men, arrived at the abandoned apartment block. He had been quite pleased to learn of the catches his two underlings had managed to reel in. The U.N.C.L.E. agents would be his ticket to a promotion, as he would take credit for the whole thing.

Entering the apartment, he found the Wentz brothers blaming each other for their predicament. What he didn’t see was either Solo or Kuryakin. Dave began to explain, but Barnes silenced him. He turned to leave but, before he went, he instructed one of his armed men to remain behind.

“Kill them,” he ordered.


End file.
